Mild Mannered
by Caethilia Mordon
Summary: A tale of Damsels, Heroes, and Strange Clingy Fabrics in the bustling metropolis of Ankh Morpork! MARVEL at the heroine's beauty! GASP at the hero's feats of derring do! REVIEW when you read it, dammit!
1. Episode One: Foiled! Pt 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Discworld, or any part thereof. Nor am I head of a world-wide publishing conglomerate, siphoning money and rights from the publication of every book published on the world. Unfortunately. However, of the little that I do own, Magatha, Thaddeus and Nikephoros are part, as well as anyone you don't recognize. Unless I stole them from someone else.

_**Mild-Mannered**_

**-**

**A Story of Bravery, Damsels and Strange Clingy Fabrics**

**- - -**

_Dramatis Personae:_

Magatha Gammins, or The Distressed Lady Grapeseed, A Damsel

Nikephoros Lothario Theophilus Dobroslav Kristofin (&c.), A Hero

Thaddeus Tent, A Filing Assistant

_Et_ _alia_

- - - - -

**Episode The First: **

_**Foiled!**_

**In which the Lady Grapeseed has a Guest; Thaddeus Townsend hurts his head; and Nikephoros does not appear**

**Part One**

The dawn broke clear and bright- albeit rather slowly, due to the slothful nature of Discworld sunlight- over the Ramtops. It flowed like golden syrup over Lancre Castle, some of it dripping down into Lancre Gorge, never to be seen again; it oozed through the township and slunk past the residence of Mistress Weatherwax. Onwards it went for what would equate to several long, dull pages of description until, deep within the mountains, it reached the base of a tall stone tower.

It stopped to catch its metaphorical breath. This was going to be tough.

The sunlight gathered at the bottom of the tower. This was a very interesting sight, and caused the flowers growing there to, in quick succession, bloom flourishingly and die, baked to a crisp by concentrated UV. Finally, in an epic struggle that would take a further ten pages to do justice, it began to make its way up the tower.

And up.

And up.

The most lovely and glorious Lady Grapeseed watched its progress with rabid interest, willing its many photons upwards. It really was distressing, how slowly the light traveled up her tower in comparison to the surrounding mountainside- after all, a fair damsel's tower really should be as bright and as, well, fair as the damsel within, shouldn't it? Not dark and ominously shadowy against the sunlit crags. She was sure of it. It was in the Book.

The sunlight had finally reached the sill of the tower's one window. Lady Grapeseed finished pulling on her shoes, hurried over and leant out just in time for the rising light to be caught and reflected by the glittering bodice of her dress. Thus ambushed, shards of sunlight were mercilessly snatched from their intended ascension and cast out into the atmosphere. The whole thing gave the impression that the young lady had transformed into a small, tower-dwelling sun.

Lady Grapeseed waited for her eyes to stop watering, then cautiously dabbed at them with a silk handkerchief. Effective as the dawn show was, it always rendered her completely blind for a few minutes- quite a nuisance, really. She stood calmly until the blotches in front of her eyes faded away. It didn't take long.

What took a little longer was for the mail-clad gentleman trudging up the treacherously steep mountain path below to reach the tower.

The mail probably wasn't helping much. Nor the gale-force winds that whipped constantly through the valleys and peaks of the mountains above Lancre.

Lady Grapeseed retreated from the window, but not so far that she lost sight of the intrepid man winding his way up the mountain. Sunlight lingered on the fine threads of her shimmering gown, casting ethereal sparkles around the tower room. It was all very atmospheric.

After a few minutes had passed, the Lady checked that her hair was still pinned firmly and safely in place, and then ventured back to the window. The intrepid climber had discarded his mail and was now making somewhat quicker time. He was still a long way away, though. Struck suddenly with nerves, Lady Grapeseed retreated and sat down at her tastefully pink vanity table, upon which lay an open book.

Yes- that was the right page. _Upon Making One's Acquaintance With Eligible Men,_ the much-thumbed eighteenth chapter of _The_ _Damsel's Guide to Etiquette, Presentation and Twoo Wuv_. She skimmed the tightly packed text with slightly squinted eyes, wishing not for the first time that the Witch hadn't had such small writing.

Presentation! Of course! Happiness positively radiated from Lady Grapeseed's smile as she realised what had been niggling at her. Settling herself down, she drew her instruments of art towards her. Hair- definitely below par, she decided, but there wasn't enough time to redo it. only to drape a lattice of seed pearls and crystal over the worst bits- oh, that was _much _better! Now, forehead- would any poet call that alabaster? As for those eyes. . .

Perfection takes a great deal of effort and time. So it was that, by the time the mysterious gentleman arrived at the base of the tower, the Lady Grapeseed had only barely finished her detailed toilet.

The great tower knocker sounded one, two, three times: Lady Grapeseed excitedly noted the guest's strict attention to numerical convention and glided with all haste and more beauty down the stairs. A Hero! It had to be! Who else would venture so far, brave such dangers, wear such shiny armour?

But- this wasn't right. There was still something. What could it be? What did not fit? What-

Of course. Lady Grapeseed put one white hand to her head and, in a single movement, undid her hair. As her many and glorious locks fell like a golden waterfall reflecting the flames of a raging fire to the floor, the Lady opened the tower door.

"My prince!" she cried, and fell in a swoon at Thaddeus's feet.

Thaddeus stood in shock, one hand still poised to knock.

Well, perhaps it was a hallucination. He had been walking uphill- upcliff, in fact, at some stages- all day, with what had quite probably been insufficient food and water and which was now _no_ food or water, and had been since ten o'clock. That could cause hallucinations. He'd read it in a book.

His head swam. His body tried to copy it, which was a bad idea given the basic aridity of Thaddeus's surroundings.

Ouch. The stone doorstep was _hard_.

Lady Grapeseed opened one limpid eye, then another. Having run out of eyes to open, she proceeded to use the two she had to see what had happened.

She was still just inside the door, exactly where she had fallen into an aesthetically pleasing heap minutes earlier. The Hero had not taken her into his arms and attempted to revive her from her swoon? That was most tardy of him! At the very least he should have moistened her pale brow with a piece of fabric torn from his shirt, moistened with wine or water from his flask-

Oh my! Was that him? Sprawled so ungainly upon the entrance to her cruel prison? Oh, it was! Lady Grapeseed put a hand to her mouth in horror as she realised what had happened. Her Hero, her Prince, had so exhausted himself on his arduous journey to rescue her that he had lost all his strength- had, quite literally, collapsed with fatigue at her door!

The Book was most adamant about what to do in this situation. Lady Grapeseed ran back up the stairs to her room and threw open the doors of her wardrobe. One could hardly nurse a man back to health wearing white silk- why, he might have wounds that she would have to tend!

Aquamarine evening gown- no.

Powder-blue riding suit- no.

Vermillion lace- _no_, indeed! Not yet, anyway.

A simple shift the colour of a cloudless evening sky- perfect. It even had little gems sewn into the fabric to represent early stars. Lady Grapeseed donned her chosen garb and rushed back down to her patient.


	2. Episode One: Foiled! Pt 2

**Episode The First: **

_**Foiled!**_

**In which the Lady Grapeseed has a Guest; Thaddeus Townsend hurts his head; and Nikephoros does not appear**

**Part Two**

Thaddeus stood, slowly and wincing. He put his hand to his head, and winced again- the solid granite step had caught him an awful blow when he fell, but Thaddeus reasoned that he could stand it. After all, he was standing, and he could see straight. It couldn't be more than a graze, though a bloody one at that.

"My rescuer, you are awake! Praise the Gods that you are unhurt!" Thaddeus spun to see who had addressed him, then waited a few minutes for his brain to stop spinning. It was the girl who had collapsed on his feet, he thought, but- hadn't she been wearing white before? Now she was clothed in some sort of dark blue dress. She rushed at him in a floaty sort of way.

"My lord, will you not speak?" She glided closer. "Oh, but you are injured! Stay, my Prince, my rescuer- I will fetch medicine, and dressings!"

Thaddeus swayed a little in her wake. The girl- he supposed she was some sort of sister or friend of Miss Gammins's- had floated off, or so it appeared to Thaddeus's wandering mind, in an orange nimbus of hair. He found a chair- it was, handily, situated beside a table exactly the right height for letting one's head collapse onto.

It was surprisingly comfortable. This was despite the fact that it was made from a great slab of stone and appeared to be oozing some sort of dark greasy substance from one end. The other end, Thaddeus noticed thankfully. The particular spot on which he had decided to lay his head was completely free of dark, greasy spots.

It was warm inside the tower, and the air wasn't whipping past your body in an attempt to pull it off the side of the mountain and play slinky down the Ramtops with it. Thaddeus's head throbbed. Medicine, the girl had said in her tinkly voice. Medicine, Thaddeus decided, was just what he needed right now. . .

Lady Grapeseed found the medicine box without much difficulty- kitchen bench, kept there for easy access in event of emergency, something that happened quite often in the Grapeseed/Gammins household. It took a little longer, however, to decide what to use from it. After several minutes, she gave up trying to decipher the cramped handwriting on the labels of several medicinal-looking bottles. The Phial would have to do. It always worked, after all.

"Oh!" Lady Grapeseed rushed to her patient's side, bandages and Phial at the ready. "Oh, my poor love! Now . . . this may hurt a little, but be brave!"

Hurt a little was, predictably, an understatement. Something that felt akin to a stream of molten lead flowed into the wound on Thaddeus's head. Scabbed blood crackled away at its approach; skin stretched and burned as it healed much faster than skin has any right to heal.

Thaddeus screamed. Lady Grapeseed soothed and bandaged. A line of fire seemed to burn its way deep into Thaddeus's brain, and then he-

He-

Felt fine, really. Lady Grapeseed smiled beatifically as the young man gently fingered his perfectly healed forehead- the Phial always worked, always! She almost laughed with happiness.

"My sweet lord, you are well again! Pray, let us leave this horrid home of cruelty at once, and make speed to your kingdom!" Lady Grapeseed's eyes filled with tears as she fell to the floor, gazing imploringly up at her saviour.

"Prince?" Thaddeus frowned, puzzled. "I'm not a prince."

"My apologies, sir! I was deceived by your noble profile and lordly bearing. Surely, then, you are a lord, or a marquis?"

"No, look, you've got it all wrong. . ."

The slightest furrow appeared on Lady Grapeseed's brow. "A viscount?"

"No-"

"But of course!" Lady Grapeseed clasped her hands in delight. "You are the impoverished son of an exiled monarch, wandering the disc in search of love and a way to reclaim your throne!" This was wonderful! Even the Witch had warned her not to expect someone _this _wonderful.

"No, wait, I'm not any of those things! I'm just a-"

"Yes?"

"I'm. . . a Junior Filing Assistant. From Ankh Morpork- I found the letter? The one from Ma-"

"_A filing assistant?_" Lady Grapeseed was outraged. "A _junior_ filing assistant?"

"No- um- Junior Filing Assistant, not junior filing assistant, I recently was promoted, um, hence the capitals. . ."

"How _dare_ you!" Just as detailed in chapter twenty-three of _The Damsel's Guide_, Lady Grapeseed now gave way to what her precious Book described as 'Righteous Anger Upon Discovery of a Cruel Deception'. "How _dare_ you do this to me! You- you deceitful, lying, _horrid_ little man!"

"But-"

"No! I refuse to listen to another word from your _lying _mouth! _Remove yourself from my presence!_"

"Er-"

"_NOW!_"

Thaddeus stared at the closed door in front of him. It was very, very closed. He doubted that even a flatworm that had been run over several times by a coach filled with very traditional dwarves could have found a gap through which to enter the tower.

He sighed, and took out the letter. Well, he'd come, hadn't he? Just like it said, yes, right there on the paper:

_Congratulations!_

_You, lucky recipient, have been given a UNIQUE OPPORTUNITY! You- YES, we mean YOU- have been CHOSEN for a NOBLE QUEST!_

_DO NOT HESITATE! GRASP this WONDERFUL CHANCE to earn FAME, FORTUNE and the HAND OF A FAIR LADY! _

_ACT NOW, and receive an ADDITIONAL **12 CARAT** **GOLD RING** OF MYSTERIOUS ORIGIN!_

_ACT NOW, and add YOUR name to the HALL OF HEROES when you RESCUE a BEAUTIFUL DAMSEL from the CLUTCHES OF PURE EVIL!_

_SEE NEXT PAGE FOR MORE EXCITING DETAILS!_

The next page had, excitedly and with much abuse of the exclamation mark, informed him that he had been SPECIFICALLY CHOSEN above HUNDREDS OF OTHER ABLE-BODIED MEN to rescue one "Magatha GaGrapeseed (Lady)" from her incarceration in the "Tower of the Bone Witch" in the mountains above Lancre. There was a map, which he had followed, and a watercolour of the damsel in question.

The artist had been reasonably accurate, Thaddeus thought, although a little generous on the, er, chestal area. He'd shrunk the girl's nose a bit, too. The look of dreamy wonderment had been quite accurate, though.

Until he'd told her who he was.

There was also the matter of the post scriptum scribbled along the bottom of the page, on top of a coupon for 5 off commission charges when you choose **Grabhammer's Hero Service** to book your quests (, etc).

PS, it read. Sorry about all that. Look up.

He'd looked up quite often during his journey, sometimes in search of divine inspiration and sometimes just wondering when the rain would stop, to no avail. But-

_Sorry about all that_. It- almost made sense, now, given what had just happened. He decided to give it one more go.

There was a rope.


	3. Episode One: Foiled! Pt 3

**Episode The First: **

_**Foiled!**_

**In which the Lady Grapeseed has a Guest; Thaddeus Townsend hurts his head; and Nikephoros does not appear**

**Part Three**

Thaddeus dangled ten metres above the ground. His feet were pedaling thin air in a way that he would have found comically had it been, say, one of Fizz's more politically biting cartoons, but which in this case only made Thaddeus squeak nervously in the back of his throat.

The climb had been reasonably easy up until now. There were lots of handily situated footholds in the stone walls of the tower. A pity he'd missed that last one.

The rope wasn't too good, either. It was slippery, and smelled of flowers.

"Hello?"

Thaddeus looked up. There was the girl again, hanging out of the window that was still at least another ten metres above him.

"Hello! Er, I say, no chance of, um-"

"What?" The girl leaned further out. "I can't hear you, it's the wind, sorry!"

"I said-" Thaddeus drew in a deep breath and slipped a few inches down the rope. "Bloody _hell_! I'm hanging from a bloody rope! I'm going to fall off and _die_! Is this your idea of a _joke_? Why won't you let me in the door like a _civilized person!_"

"Wouldn't work! You'd just knock, and then she'd come back! Wait there!" The girl disappeared.

"Wait here? Where the he- heck," Thaddeus caught himself, "am I going to go?"

As it turned out, the only place he went was about six inches downwards before he heard the girl's voice again.

"Are you there?" Thaddeus heard a faint knocking sound somewhere above his head.

"Yes, still here, strangely enough," Thaddeus grunted.

"Good." A groaning, scraping sort of noise started up above Thaddeus, in the general area that the knocking had come from. He watched as a piece of the wall sank inwards, and then stopped watching as mortar dust fell down into his eyes.

"Ouch. . ."

"There!" panted the girl inside the tower. A pair of arms appeared out of the hole, waving somewhat frantically. "Come on, then! Wind's going to come back in a minute! Hurry!"

Thaddeus performed a near-miraculous sort of vertical leap up to grasp the girl's outstretched hand. A lucky side-effect of the rising wind was that his previously sweaty, and therefore slippery, hands were now completely dry. This made being dragged through the gap in the wall relatively easy. Not to mention quite painful.

"Oof!" Thaddeus fell through onto the staircase. Or, rather, fell onto his arm, which was then squashed between his body and the stone stairs. Painfully. A small moan escaped Thaddeus' lips. The brochures hadn't said anything about this.

"Come on," barked the girl unsympathetically. "The next lull in the wind's in half an hour, and I've still to get packed and changed."

One of the more interesting aspects of the wind in this particular area of the Ramtops was its perfect punctuality. It blew continuously from six forty-eight in the evening until six-o-five in the morning, then stopped until seven. From seven until eleven thirty, it blew in half-hour periods separated by half-hours of calm. At eleven thirty started the longest break: three hours for lunch and rescuing the washing, then windy again until five before having a break for tea and starting all over again at six forty-eight. Exactly. You could set your watch by it, if you could be bothered.

It was just one of those things. Thaddeus could remember reading about a man from Sto Helit who had once traveled over to find out why the wind acted this way. He'd been blown off the mountain, and it had remained a mystery.

"Packing? But-" started Thaddeus.

The girl shot him a withering glance. "I'm not going to Ankh Morpork empty handed, boy. I know what the rent's like down there."

"Ankh Morpork? But-" Thaddeus gulped nervously. "I mean, um, I rather thought we could get a house out in the country, you know? With the reward money? Um?"

"Don't be silly," replied the girl over her shoulder as she strode away up the stairs. "I'm not going to _marry_ you. . ."

"What? But- look, wait a minute-" Thaddeus almost had to jog to keep up, despite being over a head taller than the red-headed girl. "It's all in the brochure! And the letter! I, I rescue you from the adamant tower and, um, clutches of evil-" he looked around nervously in case there were any clutches hiding just out of sight "- and I win your hand in marriage! And a, a ring! Look, see here, it's all official, there's a stamp and everything!" They had reached the top of the stairs. Thaddeus stopped to catch his breath. "See? One Quest to rescue the lovely Lady Grapeseed from the Tower of the Bone Witch, success fee two thousand Ankh Morpork dollars."

"One problem, though."

"Pardon?"

"I'm not Lady Grapeseed."

Thaddeus gaped. Surely it was the same girl? She had the same long fire-gold hair- well, it was a little more ginger than fire in this light, but nevertheless- the same wide grey eyes, even the same dark blue dress.

What did she mean, not the Lady Grapeseed?

"Well, er, where is she, then?"

Not-Lady-Grapeseed grinned and spread her arms wide. "Gone! Wonderful, isn't it? And she'll _stay_ gone until some other damn fool walks the windy path. First damn fool being you, of course- oh, don't scowl- first this week, anyway. She's a bit of a snob, ran the rest off before they remembered the post scriptum."

Thaddeus gaped a bit more.

"Good work remembering that, by the way. Thank the Bones and Book you remembered, I swear I was going to go mad if I had to stay up here another week. . ."

"Er. . ."

"Yes?"

"What _is _your name, then, please?"

"Magatha Gammins," Magatha replied, pulling a wheeled chest out from under the tall bed at the end of the room. "Help me pack, will you? I've done food and such, that's downstairs already, and you're not touching my clothes but there are some books on that shelf you could wrap. Oh, and grab those sacks from behind the dresser, will you? Curtains, too, I suppose. . ."

Thaddeus never ended up asking Magatha why he should be taking her to Ankh Morpork in any case. The topic never seemed to come up. Conversation instead revolved around such subjects as how to properly pack shoes, and if you packed glass bottles into the shoes, whether they would still break or not. Eventually, the tower room was stripped bare.

Obviously this is something of an exaggeration. The shelves and dresser were still there, and Magatha had decided eventually that it just wasn't worth carrying the mattress down the mountain- she could buy one once she found a room in the city. Some of the rugs were staying, too. Well, one of them. The one with the hole worn in it. So the room wasn't completely bare.

"Good." Magatha surveyed the room with a smirk. "Just one thing left, then," she said, and hurled _The Damsel's Guide to Etiquette, Presentation and Twoo Wuv _through the window.

It was a heavy book. The window-pane had no chance.

Magatha turned back to Thaddeus, rubbing her hands together happily. "Well, then. Shall we go?"

Thaddeus thought for a bit and Magatha strapped her smaller cases to the top of the chest. "Er, yes, I suppose so," he said as she pushed it out the door.

There was rather a racket as it rolled down the stairs. Thaddeus winced with every thud, and hoped they had packed everything safely enough. Then something occurred to him:

"Ah, Magatha?"

"Yes?"

"How exactly are we going to get all this down the mountain?"

"Oh, easily enough," replied Magatha. "There's the chair-stair the Queen had put in last year, after all."

Technically speaking, the Queen of Lancre had not had much to do with the chair-stair at all, other than be heartily encouraged by a certain acquaintance to fund the project. The stair had been designed and built by the dwarfs and was used for the most part by only one person, who used to visit her favourite mountain springs, groves, and stills. It was much more comfortable than taking a broomstick.

Handily, the chair-stair passed only a few hundred metres away from Magatha's tower. She had often lain awake at night, listening to the creak of rope and timber as it shifted in the wind, and the occasional _CRRRRRACK_ and scream when the wind blew too hard.

As they left the tower Thaddeus saw, out of the corner of his eye, the _Damsel's Guide_ lying forlornly in the horizontal grass. He almost picked it up before remembering the venom in his traveling companion's eyes as she had thrown it away. His stomach twitched a little at leaving a book out for the elements to enjoy, but stayed firm. They really didn't need the extra weight, anyway.

Later, when he saw the book strapped carefully under a hatbox, the knot in his gut subsided. Miss Gammins must have changed her mind.

He didn't mention it, though.

- - - - -

Here is the end of Episode One, as two of our three heroes venture out, down and across a few hundred miles of cabbages to the bustling metropolis of Ankh Morpork. As nothing much out of the ordinary occurs during the trip, save Thaddeus worrying a great deal about his failed Quest and Magatha getting increasingly annoyed with his worrying up until the point where she threw a cabbage at him and he stopped.

- - - - -

**AN:** Thank you Jenn J, LandUnderWave and WargishBoromirFan for your reviews. They are much appreciated, and, yes, whatsisface appears next episode. I'm not sure yet for how long, though.


	4. Episode Two: Flight! Pt 1

**Episode The Second: **

_**Flight!**_

**In which Magatha gets a Job; we meet Nikephoros; and several things Take Wing.**

**Part One**

The thing about money, Magatha decided, was that it talked. She'd heard the saying, of course, and, stuck in a tower as she'd been, hadn't really understood it until now.

Now, she realised. It did talk.

Most often, it said "good-bye". Magatha thought this a very rude way for currency to express its verbosity, and desperately wished she hadn't spent so much on a room with plumbing.

_Plumbing._

No, actually, no regrets there. Running water, running and actually sometimes _hot_ water was worth any amount of money. Possibly even the amount of money Magatha had had to pay for it.

Still, there was no getting away from the fact that Magatha's funds were running desperately low. What with rent having increased (Magatha had used charcoal and a bit of the wall to work it out) two hundred and thirty percent since Nana Bone had lived in Ankh Morpork- not to mention the various fees and subscriptions very politely requested by all those neighborhood welcoming committees- she was almost completely broke. This was despite having already pawned off most of Lady Grapeseed's jeweled necklaces, anklets, bracelets, armlets, rings, earrings, hatpins, hairpins, brooches, hairnets and sticky-backed gems for attaching to the face.

Life in the Big Wahoonie. Overrated, and overpriced.

But still so. . . addictive. Intoxicating. The heavy fug of smoke that oozed over rooftops, the periodic _WHOOMPH_ of the Alchemists' Guild, the truncated screams of tourists lost in the Shades. Magatha had only been in Ankh Morpork a month, and already she couldn't imagine going back to the Bone Tower.

Not that she would have gone back anyway. Not for all the plumbing in the world.

There was only one thing for it, Magatha decided, shoving a handful of papers into a bag. This particular bag had been made from the remains of a light blue outfit completely unsuitable for any sort of horse-related activities and which had in any case changed colour to a sort of murky lavender the first time she'd worn it outside. Magatha would have to get a job.

And she knew exactly where to go.

tveet, tveet

"Excuse me? Um, hello? Look, I only have my lunch break off, so if someone could. . . hello? Ma'am? Please?"

It is a fact universally known in the universe of offices and receptions that anywhere there is a person dinging a little bell and anxiously looking around for assistance, there will also be an office lady. She may be hiding behind a particularly wide pillar, or sending receipts one by one. . . by. . . one. . . up a hydraulic pipe. Perhaps she is simply sitting back in her well-built chair, catching up on some well-deserved sleep. Whatever she is doing, it is with the sole purpose of ignoring the bell-dinging customer.

What, you though she was really asleep? Pfft.

"Er, ma'am?" This particular office lady had opted for the hide-behind-the-pillar approach to customer services.

"Hello?"

Unfortunately, the pillar in question was markedly too small to obscure the entire bulk of Ms Wattlecomb. Put simply, bits of her were spilling over.

"Ma'am? Look, I'm really in a bit of a hurry. . ."

Thaddeus sighed. The exact same thing had happened every day for the last month- and, dash it all, he could _see_ the woman behind the pillar! It wasn't exactly a wonderful hiding place!

Nor was it a particularly impressing pillar!

Thaddeus seethed silently for a few minutes, imagining the fuss that would occur should he take this opportunity to hurl the ding-bell at what he could see of the receptionist.

He came to the conclusion that the fuss would be quite large. It was only last week that he'd filed the court report on Ms Wattlecomb vs. Darryl the Barbarian- the report had gone into grisly detail. Thaddeus remembered feeling righteously indignant about the way that awful Klatchian boy had assaulted the helpless lady.

He felt a bit ashamed of that now. Poor Darryl.

There. Twelve minutes to one. Thaddeus had to leave now, if he was to get back to work on time.

Eleven minutes to one. He could still make it if he walked particularly quickly. Besides, the office lady looked almost as if she was about to turn around. . .

No. False alarm.

Ten minutes to one. Time to go.

The front door clicked open in front of Thaddeus, and a figure with very loud shoes marched past him. Caught in her wake, Thaddeus stumbled back across the reception to the front desk.

_Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!_

Thaddeus stared at the back of the newcomer's head as she jabbed ferociously at the bell. It seemed somewhat familiar.

_Ding-ding-ding-ding-di_kzhink _clang_.

Being of a flimsy and non-Guild of Bellsmiths mould, the bell had literally cracked under the pressure of the girl's index finger. Bits of it rolled across the desk. Some rolled off. One fell on Thaddeus' shoe, and he bent to pick it up.

"Excuse me? Woman behind the pillar? I appear to have broken-" Magatha's voice caught in her throat as the woman lunged out from her hiding place. For someone so- 'hefty' would be a polite way of putting it- the office lady could move surprisingly fast. Before Magatha's poor reflexes could run her out of the way, the woman had thundered to a halt in front of her.

Magatha was incredibly glad there was a desk between herself and the receptionist. The other woman gave off a distinctly unsettling sense of _looming_, despite only coming up to Magatha's armpit.

A look of intense, warty smugness spread like some sort of malignant fungus over the office lady's face. "You _insolent _little girl! Destruction of private property is a criminal offense, you, you vandal! Punishable under the law! You-"

"I'm _soooorry_!" Magatha cried. Hearing her, Thaddeus jumped, and hit his head on the underside of the desk. She hadn't sounded like Magatha at all. More like-

Tears welled up in Magatha's eyes as she quailed under the onslaught of exclamation marks. She leant weakly against the reception desk, faintly gasping for air.

"It's just, it's just too _horrid_! I've been looking for you for so long, and I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to break your bell, I, I really didn't. It's just so _awful_. . ."

She began to sob gently, one white hand held, trembling, to her ashen cheeks. Thaddeus rose slowly. That was right, he recognized the voice now. He wondered how he hadn't managed to figure it out before.

Magatha fainted.

It was a very graceful faint. More of a swoon, really. It showed up her bosom spectacularly, although Thaddeus very definitely didn't notice this at all.

There was a gasp reminiscent of the sound an elephant makes when pulling itself from a luxurious mud bath, and the receptionist lumbered out of the room. Thaddeus could hear her thundering down the corridor beyond, screaming out for someone named Grabhammer.

"Magatha?" Thaddeus leant down beside the motionless girl, wincing as his knees clicked. "Are you all right?"

No response. Thaddeus steadfastly did not notice the way Magatha's chest beat over her palpitating heart.

Well, then.

"Lady Grapeseed?"

"_WHAT?_" Magatha shot upright, staggered, then grabbed Thaddeus' collar. "Oh _shit_. What did she do?"

"I'm sorry?"

Magatha shook him, her lips white. "_What. Did. She. Do?_"

"Um, um, nothing really, just cried and fainted and could you please stop shaking me I get headaches-"

"Oh, damn. Of all the bloody times for her to bloody come along and screw things up. . ." Magatha wiped a hand across her face and glared at the tears it picked up. "What happened to the receptionist?"

"She went to find the manager, I think." Thaddeus touched his head gingerly. He could feel a lump coming through where he'd knocked it. How was he supposed to explain _this_ at work?

Work.

"Oh, fu- _tabulate_ it," he muttered. "Look, I'm very sorry Miss Gammins, but I have to get back-"

"Don't you dare. You're staying here, you can back me up. Oh, here they come now." Magatha pinched her nose, and gave a small 'hah' of glee as her eyes watered.

"What, no, I have to get back to work," began Thaddeus. He was interrupted, and rather rudely, he thought, by Mr Eberhart Grabhammer.

"My dear young lady," the dwarf boomed. "I apologise most humbly for any distress my firm has caused you, and am most sympathetic with you as to any distress you may have which has not been caused my Hero Service!"

Magatha sniffed sadly, and stared into the distance, her mind racing.

Mr Grabhammer coughed. "Ah. . . how can we be of service, Miss - ?"

"Grapeseed," Magatha quavered. "_Lady _Grapeseed. I, um, come to ask a favour of you, sir."

"Oh?" Grabhammer seemed uneasy. "You've had a problem with your Hero, have you?" The receptionist was rifling through a shelf for the file on the distraught young lady.

"Oh, no, not at all! My assigned Hero is right here, see?" Magatha gestured vaguely at Thaddeus, who wondered where all this was going. "The thing is, Mr Grabhammer, sir, is, um, bugger bugger _think _dammit you see. . . I'm dying."

"I see!" The manager's face broke into a grin as he figured out what the mysterious girl was trying to say. "I'm afraid we don't do refunds, young man. Any damsel obtained through the Hero Service is one-hundred-percent nonrefundable and any problems caused by or relating to said damsel are in no way the concern or responsibility of- ouch! You _hit _me!"

Magatha snatched the offending hand behind her back. "NoIdi'nt! Um, er, you've got hold of entirely the wrong end of the stick there. Mr Tent is here to, erm. . ."

Thaddeus leapt at the chance to finally put forward his issue. "Mr Grabhammer, it's been four weeks and three days since I returned to Ankh Morpork, and-"

"Yes, right, very good," Eberhart snapped. Too many Heroes had been returning from their Quests to claim their reward money. The very thought of another one made Mr Grabhammer's digestive juices begin to boil. "Exactly what is it you want, my lady?"

Magatha winced. Gods above, how she hated all this bloody carry on. "I'm dying, yes? Well, my last final request, as one being _tragically_ torn from the disc in the prime of my youthful and lovely life, is that my, um, devoted twin sister is not left destitute after my death. Yes."

"Your twin sister?" The office lady had found the file on Lady Grapeseed, and Eberhart Grabhammer was scanning it with the concentration of one who can see vast quantities of money pouring away from him in the near future. "Your file doesn't say anything bout a twin sister."

_Bugger._

"Er, that's because she was transformed into a, a pigeon. By the Bone Witch. Thaddeus broke the spell, see, when he rescued me, so now she's human again and _please_, sir," Magatha fluttered her eyelashes desperately, "_please_ can't you help her? She'll be left all alone after I'm gone!"

"Well. . ." It was all in the contract, Grabhammer knew. All dependants to be taken care of by the firm, an extra enticement to get the impoverished backcountry nobles to sign their daughters away. But the _cost_. Really, this twin sister would probably end up living off the Hero Service's funds for years, just to spite them. "That is as may be, but you have to understand, milady, that-"

"Of course, Mr Tent is willing to give up all claim to his success fee should you agree to this."

"What? No! You can't just-!" Thaddeus was aghast. He needed that money, any number of gods knew how much he'd borrowed to be able to set off on the Quest in the first place! He had to pay all that back, plus interest!

Visions of vengeful moneylenders danced in Thaddeus' head as Magatha and Mr Grabhammer sorted out the fine details. As he envisioned the cracking knuckles of Roddy Carlisle's 'payment encouragers', the two decided that Lady Grapeseed's twin sister would earn her keep by taking a job in the company; as he imagined with dread the rheumy eyes of Granny Tent with her little notebook of sums, they decided on a wage twice that of the average employee (after all, Magatha stressed repeatedly, this was a special case. She was _dying_. _Tragically_). Finally, as little columns of numbers and distressingly large additions of compound interest danced the Morris before his figurative eyes, Magatha signed a many-paged contract- having read it through twice- and she and her new employer shook hands on the deal.

"Good doing business with you, my lady. Deeply sympathetic about your plight, of course. What is it that ails you, exactly?"

Magatha was ready for this. She smiled a brave smile ever so slightly tinged with the bitter knowledge of mortality:

"A broken heart, sir. I have just received word of the death of my absent love, a most noble and valiant Prince of Fourecks."

"You poor thing," sniffed the receptionist from behind her resumed post behind the pillar.

Magatha stared sadly into the middle distance. "Yes," she agreed. "It is very tragic."

- - -

Sorry about the wait- but, look, it was an extra-long chapter to make up for it, see? Over two thousand words! I mean, some of the chapters in "Social Intercourse" were only just over two _hundred_ words long, a fact that shocked me to the core when I found it out. I am deeply ashamed. Mea culpa, mea culpa and all that.

Thanks everyone who reviewed, it's much appreciated! To those of you who asked questions:

**Tindomiel:** Next episode up. . . now! Excellent! I'm glad you like my little darlings. I like them too, except Magatha when she's being obstinate and Lady G when she's being flitty. Which is always.

**Me:** Well, thank you too Me! Yes, it _is _a fanfic completely sans Vimes/Vetinari longing glances of any kind. shudder Ooh, towel. Excellent once more.

**WargishBoromirFan:** ocanalysis is a happy place. Maybe I should put Lady G up over there as some sort of evil joke, hm?

Part Two coming soon as it's written, and starring: whatsisface with the long name! At last, somewhere to write him in!


	5. Episode Two: Flight! Pt 2

**Episode The Second: **

_**Flight!**_

**In which Magatha gets a Job; we meet Nikephoros; and several things Take Wing.**

**Part Two**

Thaddeus hurried after Magatha. She had rushed out of the building at both quickly and loudly, without even a glance at him, guilty or otherwise. Really, this time she'd gone too far. . .

"Wait! Miss Gammins!"

Cli-click, cli-click, cli-click. Magatha's footsteps echoed off plaster facades as she hurried down the street.

First he'd had to bring her back to Ankh Morpork with him, and he just knew that she'd hidden Anoia knew how many jewel-encrusted bits and bobs in her underwear case. Well, obviously he didn't know for certain, having not checked, but he strongly suspected it. And then she had claimed not to have anything to pay him with for his trouble.

"Miss Gammins! Magatha!"

Cli-click, cli-click, cli-click.

Well, except for that book. She'd been quite upset when she found it, and had in fact thrown it at Thaddeus' head, despite his protestations that _he _hadn't put it with her luggage.

"Look, please, I just want to say-!"

Cli-click, cli-click, cli-

Thaddeus halted. Magatha had just rounded a corner ahead of him when her footsteps stopped.

Well, there was an obvious explanation for that, Thaddeus decided. She must have heard him and was waiting, like he'd asked. He picked up his pace and rounded the corner.

There was nobody there. Well, nobody except an old tramp. Nobody important was there, no one who owed him a quite substantial amount of money, no _Magatha_. Thaddeus blinked. It was a dead end, and there weren't any doors she could have ducked into. Or windows. He didn't even consider entertaining the idea that she would have hidden herself behind the tramp: during their trip to Ankh Morpork, Magatha Gammins had made it quite clear that she had high standards of hygiene. She had washed her hair every day.

"Miss Gammins?"

She had to be _somewhere_. That much red hair couldn't disappear into thin air, he was sure. She must have not turned the corner, after all. It had been a trick of the light that had made him think so. Thaddeus had read about those- _mirages_, that was the word for them. He had been the victim of a mirage.

Well, she couldn't have got too far. Thaddeus turned and left the cul-de-sac; there was another corner down the road a bit that she might have ducked around while he was staring into empty alleyways.

Two forty-five, after all. Too late to return to work: he would have to make up some excuse. Pretend he'd been hurt. Actually, Thaddeus thought glumly, the pretence might not be necessary if he ran into Roddy Carlisle today. Damn and blast that girl!

cli-click

"Aiiiiiiieeeee-mmmmf!" Magatha discovered that screaming through black velvet coat-sleeves was a very difficult task to accomplish. What made it worse was that the sleeve was attached to a distressingly strong young man, who was in turn holding onto the end of a rope that was swinging the two of them out across the Ankh.

"Aaaaaaghhmmflesnnrf!" Magatha hoped the rope was of the strong, not-breaking-in-midair-and-leaving-her-to-fall-to-her-doom type.

It had all happened so fast. One minute she was striding down the street, not a care in the world save giving that Tent boy the slip, the next she was whizzing through midair with her skirts around her armpits. Flung over some man's shoulder, no less.

She'd heard stories about the big city, but no one had mentioned anything like this.

cli-click

Thaddeus gave up. He'd spent half an hour scouting up and down every street he thought Magatha had gone down, and a further eighty minutes scouting down those that he wasn't sure she would have taken, but might have. In any case, she was probably half-way across the city by now.

The day really wasn't a bright one for Thaddeus Tent. Missing an afternoon of work was bad enough, but during his foray around the streets of Ankh Morpork he was sure he'd glimpsed several of Carlisle's men hulking in the shadows. In fact, he was certain of it- the reason being, as soon as he turned to check that he had seen them, they weren't there. Not even the shadows (this was the biggest clue- when Roddy Carlisle's "encouragers" were Not There, there was always a distinct lack of large figures blotting out the sunlight).

Worst of all, Thaddeus had just realised that all this running around hadn't been necessary in any case. He could have just waited until tomorrow and then gone and asked to see Miss Gammins at work. Yes, that was what he would do.

But, o- Thaddeus ran through a list of deities in the hope one might be listening- this really was too, too much. He wasn't thinking straight, and now his head was beginning to ache. Funny. It was aching on the exact spot he'd knocked it on the tower's doorstep a month ago, which would have been perfectly normal usually but which was weird in this case because he'd had no trouble from it at all before now.

Time to go home. He'd have a lie-down, calm down a bit. No wonder he was getting headaches, with all the excitement of the day! Definitely time for a nap, and, after that, maybe he would reorganise his bookshelves alphabetically by the author's middle name. . .

"_Aaiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeek!_"

Thaddeus stiffened, then quickened his pace. Another mugging. No need for him to get involved- and what could he do anyway? Threaten to bravely give the Watch a written description of the event? No. best to keep- _ow_ –

"My purse! He took my purse! Help! Somebody!"

Thaddeus stumbled as his head throbbed. _Ow_. Tiny glittery stars danced lewdly in front of his eyes. _Ow._ Gasping, Thaddeus leant back on a wall. _Ow_. A figure in shabby green cannoned into him, trailing a woman's embroidered handbag.

The world exploded into primary shards of colour before Thaddeus' eyes. He stretched out a hand towards the thief and felt a vice clamping down on his eyes. . .

cli-click

Magatha sniffed, upright and decent once again.

A pity she was on top of the Tower of Art, then.

---

**A/N: Thanks to all you lovelies who reviewed, and disappointed shakings-of-the-index-finger to everyone who didn't. Tut, tut. **

**Anyway, I know this was quite short and the last couple of hundred words a bit shaky because I just shoved them down in a hurry, so I'm sad to say this is the last update until after Easter, because what with one thing and another (well, and several large others) I've too much schoolwork hanging precariously over my head to be frittering time away with Magatha and Thaddeus. Aaah, the pain of separation, but I will return! Come on, holidays…**


	6. Episode Two: Flight! Pt 3

**Episode The Second: **

_**Flight!**_

**In which Magatha gets a Job; we meet Nikephoros; and several things Take Wing.**

**Part Three**

Arms folded, Magatha shot what she wished was an icy glare across at her kidnapper. Unfortunately, the height of the Tower of Art meant its top was very windy indeed, making Magatha's glare rather less icy and more watery and hair-filled.

"Ifill mush argen filleul _pahf_," she spluttered indignantly.

"I beg your pardon, sweet maid?" The man's voice was a soothing meld of the syrupy and the dusty, like the ash of three Genuan cigarillos dissolved in a pot of honey.

"If _thaid_," Magatha muttered as she held her hair out of her face, "That you are going to be in a _great deal _of trouble if you don't get me down from here _immediately_."

The man frowned. "Now, I don't think you did. You see, your original remark contained significantly _fewer_ words than your second one did. My dear girl, are you sure you are well?"

"_Well?_ After being swung halfway across the bloody city on a _rope?_ Are you completely mad?" The wind whipped a hank of hair from Magatha's grasp and she put up her other hand to hold it in place.

"Darling child-"

"Oh, _shit,_" Magatha cried as the man slunk towards her. "Oh, bugger, no, get _away_!"

"Pearl of my heart!"

"No! Leave me alone!" Scrabbling backwards-_not _a wise thing to do, she realised a moment later- Magatha's foot slid and she shot out over the edge. She just had time to see the top of the tower fall away- no, she thought with a kind of dizzy exhilaration, _she _was the one who was falling- and the stunned face of a rather weedy looking gentleman poised on a window ledge before everything stopped.

Funny, she thought, I don't even remember hitting the ground. . .

Then she realised that the blackness in front of her eyes was in fact the fabric of a very familiar coat sleeve.

"Faugh- what the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" She struggled around until she was upright and looking into her captor's eyes.

The eyes were an unblinking deep blue. They did not blink.

"Why, rescuing you, fair lady." The man seemed surprised at the question. Magatha suddenly became very aware of how tightly he was holding her. And how, despite being far above the ground and an almost equal distance away from any sort of platform or other support, the two of them were no longer falling. That this state of not falling was being achieved entirely without the help of ropes of any kind.

His eyes really were a very _deep_ blue.

"Well, you can. . . you can bloody well. . ." Something shifted inside Magatha's head. "Oh, hell. . ."

G

The first thing he saw was the sunlight, and it sent so much red-hot lightning across his eyeballs that he rolled over and didn't see anything else.

An hour later, he saw the wall. It was the colour of old crusts, and did not produce any lightning whatsoever. Thaddeus was glad. He stood up, wincing in anticipation of the pounding head and grumbling bowels that were sure to result from this complicated manoeuvre.

There was no pain.

Thaddeus checked himself. Of course there was pain. It was just waiting for him to do something stupid like straighten up and pull the curtains.

He straightened up and pulled the curtains. No pain.

He leaned out the open window and stared defiantly in a vaguely sunwards direction. No lightning.

This, Thaddeus decided, was highly unusual. He tried to remember what had happened the evening before. There had been- Carlisle's men, of course. And then nothing. Of course, a great deal of nothing was what one expected after a run-in with Carlisle's encouragers, but Thaddeus was stymied by the fact that _he wasn't at all injured_. He even still had all his fingers. Not to mention both legs.

What had happened?

A roll of paper hit him over the head. Ah, thought Thaddeus as he was knocked to the floor, the delivery. Of course. It was a new scheme of the Post Office's, delivering the Times every morning to those who had either no time or no ambition to run around after newsboys all day. It was very lucrative, Thaddeus knew that- having the news _delivered_ had become something of a social point for Ankh Morpork's middle class, which these days comprised anyone who could afford- or steal- a decent pair of tidy shoes. Or a nice hat, if you were of the female persuasion. Or not, as the case may be.

Rubbing his head absently- for a few sheets of cheap paper, the thing really could pack a punch- and glanced at the front page.

Then glanced again.

The third time, his eyes locked onto the page and, try as he might, he could not tear them away.

"What in the blazes-?"

---

**Well huzzah and hoorah, it's holidays again! Three cheers for the good ol' Easter bunny, wot? Three cheers likewise to the four lovely people who reviewed the last instalment, namely, Nercia Genisis, Tuima, and the delightfully anonymous random pineappleness and yeth. Well done on your rebellion against capitalisation of proper nouns.**

**Tut tut, Steel Phoenix, putting us on story alert but not reviewing? Scandalous! **

**Anyway, quite a short instalment this time, but I really didn't want to put anything else in at the moment. Maybe next chapter. In fact, definitely next chapter. Hoorah!**

**Chocolatechocolatechocolate. . .**


	7. Episode Three: Discovery! Pt 1

**Episode The Third:**

_**Discovery!**_

**In which Magatha suffers from Hayfever and a Hero, Thaddeus is Unnerved, and Various Incidents Occur.**

**Part One**

Flowers. Oh, _bugger_.

Magatha sneezed explosively, an action which succeeded in blowing away several of the offending blooms and clearing her muzzy head. Unfortunately, it also attracted the attention of the black-clad gentleman standing across the room. Magatha cursed silently as he approached: that muzzy feeling could only mean one thing, and it was a thing she desperately wished hadn't happened.

"My sweet love, you are awake! Come; let me clasp you in my arms-"

"Aark!" Magatha rolled sideways off the bed- oh, gods, a _bed?_ - and left the man clasping at a cloud of rose petals. "No! Don't touch!"

Magatha backed away, racking her brain for memories of the night before. The tower- yes, she'd fallen off the tower and he'd caught her . . . in midair . . . and then-

Dammit! Nothing but bloody pink fluff. She sneezed again. It was bad enough that the damned woman had to poke her head up at all, let alone leave Magatha with a head full of moonbeams and candy floss. If she could only _remember . . ._

"Dearest, what is it that ails you?" The man had his arm around her waist now, how the hell had he done that? She'd, she'd been _watching _him, blast it all, and she could have sworn he hadn't moved from the other side of the bed. "Art ill, my precious flower? Pray speak, that I may lay my life at thy feet to aid thee!"

Magatha blinked. The man's hand- the one not currently circling her waist, that is, and she was extremely grateful to find her waist (and indeed the rest of herself) still fully clothed- brushed against her forehead. It was all very disconcerting.

"Look, just- just stop for a moment, yes?" She pulled away, and felt a lump rise in her throat when his arms resisted for a moment. Free, she backed away until the rose-strewn bed separated them once more, willfully ignoring the little voice in her head that reminded her that that hadn't exactly stopped him the first time. Magatha took a deep breath, rubbed her hands across her face and breathed out slowly.

"Right . . ." Oh, gods, the door was behind him now. How was she supposed to get out?

"Dear heart, what hath brought about this sudden distemper? Is't-"

Magatha snapped. She'd had enough of this, of the confusion and the not knowing what had happened and the formal speech- not even her _grandfather_ had spoken like that!- of the itch in her nose courtesy of all those _bloody _flowers and most of all, Magatha had had enough of the feeling that this wall all too too much and that at any moment she would break down and-

No. That _wasn't _going to happen.

"Stop! Stop talking, stop going on like you're some sort of bloody knight errant, all right! I don't know who the hell you are, I don't know where the hell I _am_, but you-" by now she was screaming, pointing a shaking finger at the pale man, "-_you_ are going to take me home. This _instant_. And, and I don't care if that doesn't play into your _stupid_ little game, or whatever this is, but I've had enough and if you don't let me go I'll scream and I'll scream until the Watch come and _kill you!_"

Pause, Magatha panting with exertion. And sniffing, because those _bloody _flowers just didn't know when to stop, did they?

The man shifted his weight uncertainly and Magatha almost sobbed, "No, no, don't _move!_ Just stay there!"

"You don't understand, do you?"

"What?"

"I can't let you go now."

"Um, no, _yes _you bloody well can!"

"NO!" shouted the man. His voice echoed around the room; quite a feat, as the room was barely fifteen feet across. "I claim but a single kiss to seal our love, damsel. Would'st thou leave me so unsatisfied?"

"Yes, I bloody well would!"

"You cannot!" The man looked even paler now, his eyes dark holes in his face. "Dost our conversation of last night mean naught to you? Hast no regard for my rescue of you sweet self from certain doom?"

"Certain _what_?" snapped Magatha. She hadn't been in any danger, surely. . . oh. "Thaddeus."

"You fled his advances and I saved thee! Does this hold no merit in thy heart?"

Magatha groaned. "No, look, you've got it all wrong. He wasn't- look it isn't any of your business, all right? Just let me out of here and leave me alone."

"Fair maid, thou know'st that is impossible."

"I think it's extremely possible, actually. You show me the door, I leave, you stay the hell away from me forever. Capische?"

"Blossom of my eye, without the kiss-"

"I AM NOT GOING TO KISS YOU!"

"_Oi!_" There was a banging on the wall Magatha had backed into. "_Keep it down, willya? Some of us're trying to sleep over here!_"

Magatha started. People? Thank the gods! She started to pound on the wall. "Help! HELP ME! Someone get me out of here!"

"_Wot?_"

"I'm stuck in here with a man! Help me!"

"_Look, lass, I don't wanna mess in no domestics, right? You-_"

Magatha growled in the back of her throat. _Bastard_. "I'll pay you!"

"_Be right over!_"

11

Thaddeus stared aghast at the newspaper as everything came flooding back to him. The scream, the lights- then-

_Everything_. Every sense in his body screaming in glee, the wind whipping past his face and the _colours_. Oh, the colours. Brighter, richer, every detail and blemish and perfection standing out to him. The delicate blush of a solitary dandelion in some guttering as he swooped- yes, swooped down onto the lady's attacker. The oily glint of tiny puddles between the cobblestones as his fist connected, sending the criminal flying into a wall, the bricks of which were a mad mosaic of red-brown canals and ranges with tiny flecks of darker stone. The fug of the streets roiling past in great smoky waves as he, purse in hand and girl in other hand, soared above the rooftops of Ankh Morpork . . .

The retrospective made him shudder. Thaddeus had never been much of a one for heights.

And now this. He'd been aware of the flashes, of course, he'd been acutely aware of _everything_, even the acoustics of a drunk heaving up his liquid dinner in an alleyway as he flew above. Somehow, though, he hadn't connected the lights to this.

Oh well. At least he could be thankful none of the photographs had caught his face.

- - -

**Hurrah, another installment done. Not quite so many jokes in this one, though. My fingers are a little cold, which may have something to do with it- I'm not sure.**

**Some of you may have noticed that I've started (yet) another multi-chapter fic. Have no fear! I still remain loyal to Mild Mannered and, to a lesser degree, To Catch a Sue (the lesser extent due to me trying to figure out how to bring the plot into play. And lack of reviews. Few reviews me losing heart me paying more attention to other things. Forgive me, for I am weak). The Business is a strictly limited piece, it'll have five chapters at the very most and they'll all be reasonably short. Also on the other-stories-front, I've finally determined to fix the formatting in those first few chapters of Social Intercourse. Yes, finally.**

**Thanks to all my lovely reviewers again- you keep me going, eh! This chapter is about, oh, three hundred or so words longer than the last one, which still doesn't beat my longest-chappie record (actually, I'm not sure how long my longest chapter is. Heh) and definitely does better than my shortest ones (which range around the 200 word mark, horror of horrors). **


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